


If You Were the Only Girl In the World And I Were the Only Boy

by Reinette_de_la_Saintonge



Category: Downton Abbey, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Feelings, Kissing, Sibling Rivalry, Surprise Kissing, World War I, lots of them - Freeform, officer from the American War of Independence transferred into WW1 setting, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reinette_de_la_Saintonge/pseuds/Reinette_de_la_Saintonge
Summary: Two characters from two different fandoms often accused of being cold and unfeeling meet in this crossover fic. Mary, not sure what to do, caught in her decision to marry Carlisle but still loving Matthew, crosses paths with a curious officer staying at Downton for his convalescence.Both stranded and looking for what to do with their lives and trying to figure out who they are and want to be, how will their encounter affect them both?





	If You Were the Only Girl In the World And I Were the Only Boy

**Author's Note:**

> My very first Downtown Abbey fic, written in the context of a big Christmas re-watch. I hope you enjoy it!

It was quite hard, pretending. Pretending she was happy for Matthew. Pretending she did not worry for him at the Front when so many men didn’t come back and if they did, they often had suffered unimaginable horrors, lost use of their eyesight or limbs- the list could go on and on. Pretending she was happy in general when in truth, she was not.

Downton had become such a dreadfully narrow place in recent times, causing her to feel encaged. Perhaps it had to do with the war and the officers inhabiting some of the best rooms, who could be quite noisy at times and were now diligently cared for by Sybil, who seemed to prefer being called “Nurse Crawley” and was slowly brushing off the polished refinement she had been raised to represent to do her bit and Edith, who miraculously managed to entertain the men- God only knew how she did that, how someone so terribly dull and bland inside and out could be considered a cheerful, entertaining presence. But then, after being wounded and seeing all the horrid things they wrote in the papers in person, even Edith could likely be regarded as a vast improvement.

While the world appeared to be turning ever faster for her sisters, who both appeared to be happy in what they did, she felt stuck in a world set up by their parents, which she had been taught to represent with all duties and expectations that came with it.

From her childhood on, she had known that as the eldest, she was something special, destined to marry well, preferably a man socially her equal, who would then become the new Earl of Grantham and she his countess. All her life, she had lived with this expectation, first engaged to Cousin Patrick, then to Matthew- she had fallen quite deeply, something she would never admit to. If her upbringing had taught her one thing, it was how to hold her head high and keep her dignity even if she felt like burying her face in the cushions of her bed and crying- a weakness she would never allow herself.

When Papa had told her Sir Richard Carlisle had formally asked for her hand, she could scarcely believe it, even if she had known it would happen sooner or later. She had been foolish to let Mathew go, but she couldn’t undo the past. No one could. Lamenting things that had been done would not help either of them- he was happy now, or would be for good when he and Lavinia would marry after the war and she would be, too.

Or would she? She didn’t love Carlisle, nor did he love her. Theirs was an arrangement of convenience- as Aunt Rosamund had once so kindly reminded her, her time was running out- soon, she would be considered a spinster, too old to be seen as a serious contender on the marriage market. She had to make a decision, and someone better wouldn’t come her way. Carlisle was an opportunity to be seized, and the same was true for him: she would award him the sheen of elegant refinement, the standing and rank to be admitted to certain circles, and the wealth and power he wielded meant she would always be clothed and fed to the standards she was used to. Perhaps he would be awarded a peerage, which would be a great improvement in itself. And maybe, just maybe, Love would come. Maybe there could be a happy end to their story, to everyone’s story.

Much as Mary tried to make herself believe it, reality painted a different picture: with all the horrors of the war going on, everything else just seemed so little, insignificant.

New officers arrived almost daily; some more, some less badly disfigured and disabled. Like her sisters, she was involved in entertaining them, but contrary to darling Sybil who was all caught up in her new role that couldn’t be further from that of an earl’s daughter and the responsibilities that went with it and Edith, who acted the homely housewife who distributed books, played the piano and helped composing letters home, she tried to keep her time with them reduced to a minimum that allowed her to stand above criticism from anyone for not showing her support for the men in France and their comrades returned for convalescence.

There was no reason why she wanted to see the men. She didn’t know any of them personally, nor did she feel a desire to come to know them. They were strangers to her and it was best kept that way. Besides, in every injury, every hobbling man on crutches she saw _him_ , imagined Matthew badly injured, his life changed forever.

She really didn’t need that.

Sometimes, one of them caught her eye when a passing resemblance if one didn’t look too closely and concentrated on the uniform only tricked her into thinking of Matthew.

This one however was quite different. He had arrived a few days earlier, his face bandaged on one side with a bloody stain where once must have been a left ear and walking on a stick like Mr Bates', just less practiced in his movements. His hair had made him stand out to her, in so far as it was visible underneath the bandage, red and curling in an indomitable manner.

Naturally, Edith had immediately thrown herself at him, blabbering about helping him, making him comfortable and the like, but he had refused her quite coldly in a startlingly high-pitched voice and instead preferred to rely on his stick alone.

In the coming days, he would spent all day and night sitting alone in a wingback chair with either a book or newspaper, barely touched his food and didn’t speak to the other officers. He did not smoke with them, nor did he partake in games of pool or the entertainments they sometimes put on.

Even Edith, who prided herself with knowing every one of the men who apparently weren’t strangers to her so well couldn’t find a way to endear herself to this one, which evidently wounded her pride.

According to Anna, who had told her while arranging her hair for dinner, the kitchen maid, Daisy, if she remembered correctly, was so afraid of him she would not bring firewood upstairs anymore on her own and most other staff avoided the man as well. With the majority of able-bodied men having been called to the front and no footmen at all, their duties had been shifted to others, which also included having a kitchen maid being seen upstairs. Curious how not long ago, such a thing would have been unthinkable, but the war made things very different from the world she had known before.

“He’s those glowing pale blue eyes of his and he never blinks- his skin is white as a shroud and you’d think Death Himself is staring at you!”

Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes had of course dismissed such arrant nonsense and reprimanded the girl for being so superstitious and advised her to be more selective in her choice of magazines, but Daisy could not be moved and had instead continued to fret over the strange officer and how he might be something out of this world, a dark entity of sorts.

The kitchen maid was of course overreacting, frightful little thing that she was, but she was right in supposing something was not quite right with him- and she did not mean his injuries.

He intrigued her. In the coming days, she came to observe him quietly, a welcome divertissement from fretting over Matthew or trying to acquaint herself with the thought of marrying Carlisle.

She had made the bed, and now she would have to lie in it- but until then, despite having forced herself to present him to her parents and perpetually trying to convince herself she was doing the right, the most sensible thing, she had come to realise it was best not to think about a glum future too much.

Urged to do her bit towards the War Effort, she watched him when she sang, accompanied on the piano by Edith.

It was there their eyes met for the first time, that his unblinking stare challenged her. His fingers tapped along on his thigh, though completely without a rhythm and his eyes betrayed nothing of whatever he was feeling.

Mary would almost have lost her lines when she realised his eyes were trying to pierce her like daggers, but she soldiered on- as everyone did these days.

She had no words to describe what went on in her head and her stomach when she ended the song on "If you were the only girl in the world and I were the only boy" while reciprocating his undisguised, very open stare and brushed the feeling off and away as soon as she could, thinking that not thinking about it would be the best policy.

Anna, the most faithful person in Downton, later relayed to her upon further questioning when they were in private, that the man, going by the name of Lieutenant-Colonel Simcoe, was not well-liked among his brother officers as a reputation of violence, disobedience and misdemeanour preceded him.

That was of no interest to her, he was hardly armed and dangerous now, hobbling around with the aid of his cane and unarmed, but she could not deny it added a certain air to him, a looming, electric danger that expressed itself in his eyes.

As there was nothing worth of importance to report, and she and this Simcoe never spoke, Mary almost forgot about him upon realising she had invited Carlisle for dinner with the family a few days later.

Dinner went quite well, she thought; Granny behaved well, and not even Edith or Sybil could stun those present with their latest air of progressiveness, be it nursing, politics or farming.

Carlisle couldn’t stay, or so he had said and was awaited by a friend in London in the morning- important business called him back, prompting him to leave on the last train from York.

When the family had said their goodbyes to their potential future son-in-law, Mary alone accompanied him to the door were Branson would be waiting with the motor. Due to the grave shortage of servants, his coat had yet to be brought and so, they waited in an uncomfortable silence Mary tried to hard to paper over by asking him if he had liked the food, or if not her father’s view of himself in his new role of Colonel was not a bit harsh, but the tense air between them remained.

After half an eternity, his coat arrived at last.

“Goodbye, Richard”, she tried to dismiss him in a tone she thought was friendly and amiable.

“Mary.” Richard, who had taken several steps towards the door, stopped.

“We are engaged now, are we?”

“I haven’t given you an answer yet”, Mary replied and felt increasingly nauseous.

“Then give it to me now. I shall not wait until the end of Eternity.”

“You shan’t”, she tried to placate his impatience, just give me more-“

“Love. It is about love, isn’t it? I assure you, that may change over time, now-“

He leaned forward, aiming to kiss her as if he thought he could win her consent in this manner by feigning deep affection for her, but Mary drew away.

“What’s the matter, I am your fiancé-“

“ _Ahem_.”

Suddenly, a third voice had joined theirs and as she turned her head in the direction from which the voice was coming from, she saw Colonel Simcoe, neatly dressed as always, clearing his throat, his upper lip twitching forebodingly. The cane in his right hand suddenly looked very threatening.

The realisation hit Mary like a freight train: not only had she watched him, he had watched her, too. And although she would likely think very differently about it as soon as she would find the time to give everything a proper thought, she was awfully glad the Colonel had turned up.

Without another word, Richard made his way to the door and slipped into the night.

“Thank you”, Mary whispered and meant it with all her heart.

He only shrugged and walked towards her.

“Are you alright?”

“I suppose so.”

He had come very close, too close than what could be considered proper and appeared to be examining her, as if trying to ascertain himself that no harm had come to her.

Her chest heaved as between them, only inches apart, his head lowered somewhat down to her so their faces were very close- she could see every detail of him very clearly, the long eyelashes, the thin line of his mouth, the hair glowing in the light of the electric lamps of the entrance hall. She could even feel the heat of his skin and wondered if he in turn could smell her perfume.

No words were spoken, they just looked at each other. Her dark eyes met his strikingly blue ones without really conveying a message; all they did was to observe the other, to try and ascertain what they were thinking and how this situation would play out even though deep in her heart, Mary already knew.

His hand lost the grip of his cane that cluttered to the ground with a loud thud, but Mary barely noticed.

Taking a deep breath, unsure if she should do this, even if the situation could have no other outcome, she made the smallest of steps more towards him.

The Colonel noticed and for the first time, she didn’t see the images of wartime horrors, of personal pain and things he didn’t want to speak about reflected in his eyes; there was desire, there was love.

One of his almost frightfully large hands came to reach for her face and surprised her with the tentativeness of his touch. There was nothing of Richard Carlisle’s forceful roughness, no sense that even if he was about to initiate their kiss, he thought of her as his, an asset to be possessed for the betterment of one’s own name or something like that, there was nothing but carefulness and reverence.

For a moment, Mary wondered how many of the rumours she had heard about him were true or not, if the hand softly tilting her jaw upwards would in the next second grip her throat- but who was she to judge other people’s secrets? The unfortunate Kemal Pamuk sprung to mind. Never would she forget this night, ever.

Realising that her thoughts had gone astray, Colonel Simcoe ascertained himself of her full attention by finally bringing his lips down on hers and before she could formulate a last clear thought, she found herself reciprocating his eagerness, opening her mouth to him and letting her arms wrap themselves around his body.

It was then Mary allowed herself to close her eyes, to heighten the her senses of touch and taste through robbing herself of her sight- and besides, it was what ordinary people called romantic to do that.

His body felt strange, new under her hands, even his smell was foreign. She knew nothing about this man, but that made even more exciting. She kissed him with fervour and enjoyed the ways in which their bodies drew ever closer to another.

Despite not being particularly small, he was so much taller than her and she rather relished in the feeling of being held for the moment, rather than to hold on, for once.

She felt safe, protected, and at the same time incredibly powerful and strong. What was passing between them was unique, something she had never known before.

Quite overwhelmed, she opened her eyes to see him, his eyes closed, too.

 And then she realised, she wasn’t kissing him, and he wasn’t kissing her, and yet they were kissing each other. It was so very complicated and extremely simple at the same time.

They barely knew each other, only from sight and perhaps through rumours and yet the way they kissed spoke of long pent-up love and desires, of longing and pain, of utmost, inimitable intimacy. They just existed for the other, for the hurt and pain, were made for doing this, and doing it in this moment only.

Mary knew it would be the first and the last time they kissed even before their faces drew apart again.

He was very gentle and careful, but his hunger to kiss and please in his endeavour was ravenous. She was cautious and unsure, also but felt oddly bold and consoled, ready to give him back what he was giving her- or was it the other way around? Mary was not certain, and it did not matter anyway.

At last, their mouths separated, each stepping back a few paces as if they were startled at what they had done.

And still, neither of them spoke a single word. It would only have ruined everything- not to speak of his somewhat odd voice. He hadn’t needed to whisper a name into her ear that wasn’t hers for her to know he was thinking of somebody else, perhaps a Someone from wherever he came from, and likewise she was certain he had known from the way her arms had slung themselves around his back like strong tendrils of ivy that he had been someone entirely different for her- and yet, they had been the only one for another, the only person that mattered for a few seconds, and it had been beautiful, a moment of light among the dreary darkness of her prospects and his uncertain future.

“Good night, Colonel”, she mouthed almost voicelessly, suddenly aware someone might come and see them.

Perhaps she should regret her recklessness, but she didn’t, even if one of the servants would sell the story to Carlisle. In this moment, she couldn’t have cared less about him.

With a last glance at each other, so wistful and honest she felt as if the arctic cold of his eyes that rather contradictorily emanated great warmth, had pierced her very soul, as if he alone knew a secret everybody else could only guess at or suspect- and she knew the same of him, too.

That was the last she had ever seen of him. All night, Mary rolled around in bed, thinking of Matthew, of the Colonel, their kiss, of marriage, Sir Richard Carlisle, the war and the feeling that the world, on the grand scale of politics and even in the very traditional ever-existing world of Downton Abbey was about to change. When at last she fell asleep, she dreamt, but her dreams made no sense at all and she had forgotten them before she was woken in the morning.

Dressed and sufficiently made presentable for the morning, she repaired to the officers’ domicile in the large state rooms. Letting her eyes wander left and right, she looked for him but couldn’t find him. Maybe he had taken his stick to go for a walk, he would certainly be back, she told herself, knowing it was a lie.

“Looking for something?”, Edith, who had just stepped into the room with an armful of books for the men addressed her.

“I am in fact, looking for someone. Have you seen Colonel Simcoe?”

Edith gave her a somewhat bemused look.

“He’s departed this morning, haven’t you heard?”

“Good heavens”, Mary managed to breathe and instinctively reached for the metal frame of the bed closest to her to support herself.

“Goodness, no”, Edith then clarified, but not after doubtlessly having savoured the sight of seeing her somewhat shocked and having caught her off-guard.

“He departed to be with family in the south. I heard his godfather is a prominent figure in the Navy, it is likely he put a word in for him to be allowed to rest and convalescence at his private home.”

He had gone. It was as simple as that.

“Are you _that_ desperate now, Mary?”

It was evident Edith enjoyed herself and couldn’t help but add her unwanted commentary rubbing salt in the invisible wound she wore concealed from all the world in her heart.

When she had asked what Matthew would have to do for the family to believe him when he said he loved Lavinia, cut open his chest and engrave her name on his heart, she had said it because sometimes she felt like doing the same, then putting it back in but now knowing that even if she couldn’t muster the courage to tell anyone about her true feelings, least of all Matthew, at least after her death, a surgeon might discover it, making it one person in total besides herself who would ever know how much, how dearly she loved Matthew.

“Desperate?”, she echoed, trying to sound as detached and stricken by ennui as she could. However, what worked on strangers with considerable effect did not seem to penetrate Edith’s equally cool and calm veneer at all.

“You refused Cousin Matthew and cannot be happy now that he is going to marry Lavinia. Then you got yourself Sir Richard Carlisle, who is rich enough for your taste but not a gentleman at all, whom you appear to replace with a mere-“

“Believe what you want, Edith.”

Mary turned on her heel with the feeble ghost of a cold smile on her lips which she often used to convey to her sister how little she regarded whatever she said and left.

 

A few weeks later.

After the departure of Colonel Simcoe, she had avoided the company of the officers altogether best as she could. She hadn't heard from Matthew lately, making her wonder if he was well, and in the event of his return, for which she prayed in secret every night, if she would ever tell him about the true state of her heart. When Matthew had once asked her if she was happy, she had lied to him about soon expecting to be happy. She still was not and perhaps she had to accept the fact that she never would be.

Mother had sent her to look for Sybil in order to ask her if she would be joining a charity dinner in Ripon in the evening or if she had to be on one of these dreadful night shifts at the hospital again. Unsurprisingly, Sybil, clad in her grey VAD uniform, was to be found among her charges, changing the bandage  wrapped around the head of a man sitting up in bed and reading a newspaper.

“Sybil darling, Mama wonders if-“

As she spoke, her eyes fell to the paper, now identifiable as The Times. The man appeared to be interested in the section announcing births, deaths and marriages and studied them intently-

 

_Lieut.-Col. J. G. Simcoe, Esq. and Miss E. P. Gwillim_

_The engagement is announced between John, son of Captain and Mrs John Simcoe, R.N. and Elizabeth, daughter of Colonel and Mrs Thomas Gwillim, both of Hembury Fort House, Devon._

 

Mary suddenly felt a warm feeling spreading in her chest, which proceeded to take possession of her entirely. It was not exactly happiness, but it felt nice, encouraging, hopeful. One could say that what she had just read had made her momentarily happy- and gave her hope.

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken Simcoe entirely as he was portrayed on TURN with regard to his mannerisms, looks, views and (physical) attributes, which is vastly different from what the real man was like. Simcoe (1752-1805), had served in the British Army during the American War of Independence and later became first Lietuenant Governor of Upper Canada.  
> -so far for the show.  
> Later, he returned home after the Siege of Yorktown in late 1781 for convalescence, as he had fallen seriously ill prior to the siege for reasons he describes in his memoirs as being both of a physical and mental health nature.  
> He was taken in by his godfather Admiral Samuel Graves (1713-1787), a good friend of his late father's, his wife Margaret (1727-1808) and Margaret's orphaned niece and ward Elizabeth Posthuma Gwillim (1762-1850). The latter played a great part in his convalescence, as she spent a lot of time with him and as both loved the outdoors, their strolls through the Devon countryside, often unchaperoned as no suitable candidate to accompany them could be found in the face of both Graves' not being the youngest any more, grew longer and longer. By 30th December 1782, Elizabeth and John were married. Margaret initially opposed the marriage, but could be persuaded to allow her niece marry the man she had chosen for herself- penniless, socially her inferior and without a title to match her considerable fortune. They were happily married until his death in 1806.


End file.
